The Devil's Assistant.

Two

Monday came faster than I was ready for.

I told myself that the black blazer, the sharp heels, the extra five minutes I spent on my makeup none of it was for him. It was armor. It was professionalism. It was the version of Mara Ellis that didn't flinch.

I repeated that three times in the mirror before I left my apartment.

The Blackwell Industries lobby was different from what I remembered. In forty-eight hours, he'd already had the reception desk moved, the branding updated, the old logo my logo replaced with a sleek black-and-silver emblem that screamed money and very little warmth.

I stood in front of it longer than I should have.

"Ms. Ellis."

I turned. A young woman with a neat ponytail and the slightly frantic energy of someone on their third coffee was already extending her hand.

"I'm Jade. Mr. Blackwell's scheduler. He asked me to bring you up the moment you arrived." She hesitated. "You're four minutes early. He's been asking since eight."

It was eight-oh-four.

"Of course he has," I murmured.

The executive floor felt different too. Quieter. The easy chatter I'd built with my team over years had been replaced with the particular silence of people who didn't yet know if they were safe. I caught two sets of eyes as I stepped off the elevator former employees of mine, both of them carefully neutral.

I gave them a small nod. I see you. I haven't forgotten.

Ethan's office was at the end of the hall. Floor-to-ceiling glass. A view of the city that made everything below look small and manageable. He was on the phone when Jade opened the door, standing with his back to me, one hand in his pocket.

She gestured me in and disappeared.

I sat down across from his desk and waited.

He didn't rush the call. He didn't acknowledge me. The minutes stretched and I focused on keeping my expression even, my hands still in my lap, my eyes anywhere but the sharp line of his shoulders.

He ended the call without a goodbye and turned.

"You changed the reception desk," I said before he could speak.

"It was poorly positioned."

"My team liked it there. It made the space feel approachable."

"We're not trying to feel approachable." He sat down. "We're trying to feel authoritative."

"You can be both."

A pause. He looked at me the way I imagined he looked at balance sheets searching for the flaw.

"Is that your first note, Director?"

"It's an observation."

He slid a tablet across the desk. A schedule, packed so tightly the blocks of colour bled into each other. Meetings, calls, site visits, a Friday gala I'd somehow already been added to as his plus-one.

I looked up sharply.

"The Hartley Foundation event," he said, as if it were obvious. "The Hartleys were your clients before the acquisition. They're uncomfortable with the transition. You're familiar to them."

"So I'm a prop."

"You're a bridge." His voice didn't change. "There's a difference."

I set the tablet down carefully. "I want to be in the Monday strategy meetings."

"Those are executive level."

"I am executive level. You made me Director of Operations, Mr. Blackwell. That means I need to know what we're operating toward."

Something moved behind his eyes. Not irritation exactly. Closer to recalibration like he was adjusting an estimate upward.

"Fine," he said. "Mondays at nine."

I nodded and reached for the tablet again, scrolling through the week. There was a problem with Thursday's client call two competing time zones, neither of which worked and the Friday gala clashed with a contract deadline I could already see was going to be brutal.

I started making notes.

The office was quiet except for the scratch of my pen. I could feel him watching me.

"You're not going to thank me?" he said finally.

"For what?"

"The Monday meetings."

I glanced up. "Should I thank you for something that was already reasonable?"

That almost-smile again. The one that did things to the room's temperature I refused to acknowledge.

"Most people do."

"I'm not most people." I returned to my notes. "And I think you already knew that when you offered me the job."

Silence.

Then, quietly and I wasn't entirely sure I was meant to hear it "Yes. I did."

I kept my eyes on the tablet. My pen didn't stop moving. But something shifted in my chest, small and stubborn, like a lock turning that I hadn't given anyone permission to touch.

I ignored it.

I was good at ignoring things.

"I'll need access to the full client database by end of day," I said. "And someone needs to fix the reception desk."

He said nothing for a moment.

Then: "I'll have IT send you the credentials."

"And

the desk?"

A long pause.

"...And the desk."

I smiled just barely, just to myself and turned the page.